


Homecoming

by dvs



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-05
Updated: 2010-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvs/pseuds/dvs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John returns home after his father's funeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place directly after the episode **Outcaste** | A big thanks to Nel for the speedy beta.

_I started fuckin' running  
As soon as my feet touched the ground_

_Homecoming_ \- **Green Day**

  


It was strange being at his father's funeral, feeling like he was the only person who didn't really belong there. John was pretty sure he even got a few looks in his direction as if people were wondering who the hell he was and who the hell that guy next to him was, eating... so much.

Dave. Dave was like he'd always been. Perfect at being a Sheppard. John watched the way he was with everyone. Exactly the way their father had been. A man with a face for every occasion and the funeral was just like their mother's funeral had been. John had spent much of that watching from the sidelines too wishing he could be anywhere else but here. John had been suffocating in his suit then and was suffocating in it now as he stood next to his father's casket. Still no idea what to say.

Back then, Dave had been there, hanging around him. Discreetly watching him, like John might just fly off the hinges if one more person looked in their direction with _that_ look. Those poor boys. Those poor motherless boys.

“You okay?” Dave had asked back then.

“I'm fine,” John had said automatically, squinting though the sky was dark. Or not. He couldn't really remember. The memories of that day were blurred, faded. Mostly he remembered his father not really looking as though he'd lost his wife. He was always pretty good at the whole hiding his emotions thing.

Nancy looked more at home than John. She looked different. Maybe that Greg guy was making her happier than John ever could. John figured he'd never really been good at making other people happy. It wasn't that he ever meant to make anyone _un_happy. It was just one of those things that happened.

_Well, that's just you through and through, isn't it? You're not happy until someone else is-_

John took a long deep breath. The old man was gone. It was no good going over old wounds, memories, good, bad, whatever. Despite Dave's sharp words, he'd still let John in and they even managed a few restrained chuckles as they talked without really talking.

It was weird how he felt fourteen and angry for a moment again. Angry that no one ever said anything that meant something. Angry how after their mother died no one ever talked the way she did, held anyone the way she did, laughed unrestrained like she did.

She probably would have really liked Ronon. She always liked John's friends.

He had felt selfish telling Dave goodbye, breathing with too much relief as he returned to Atlantis, every fibre of his body singing 'home'. Back to this place where he had finally run far enough, his father resting in a fresh grave beside his mother.

As he stepped through the gate, that sudden realisation seemed to clutch his heart, full and heavy, overwhelmed by the loss of that last chance to say goodbye. To say anything. All he had was the hope that his father knew how he felt.

“You okay?” Sam asked when he arrived, Ronon watching him closely.

John gave a small nod and polite smile. “I'm fine. Thanks.”

It was like the newest way to greet someone today as he tried to get from the gate to his quarters. Someone said that they'd heard the news and he replied, “I'm fine. Thanks,” and then tried to get to his quarters as fast as possible. Of course, he couldn't hide in there either because people knew he was there and wanted to come by. Everyone seemed to know everything in Atlantis.

Usually John loved Atlantis, but today he managed to hate her a little too. Standing on an abandoned balcony and watching the perfect sunset he hated that his father never knew this. Never knew what his son had found. How it wasn't a life wasted. Hated his father a little for making it so hard to tell him anything. Hating himself a little.

“I'm fine,” he told Teyla later, when she caught him down a corridor trying to avoid her.

“Why didn't you say something?” she asked in that odd way Teyla could be kind and tactless at the same time. He'd never known someone who could demand a person into not being a complete rock about things.

John shrugged and offered an awkward smile. “I kind of had to leave in a hurry.”

And there it came. Teyla sighed, gave him a pained look and stepped forward and hugged him whether he wanted to or not. Though... maybe he kind of wanted to. Teyla was all warmth and curves, too comforting to handle. He swallowed hard and gave her a pat on the back and she stepped away, keeping one hand on his arm.

“If you need _anything_,” she said.

“I know,” he said with a nod, suddenly feeling an odd compulsion to tell her that they'd find the father of her baby no matter what. As if suddenly that might fix a big gaping hole in his universe. He thought it was best not to let Teyla think he was any stranger than usual Earthlings and just managed to repeat, “I know.”

She watched him closely as he pretended to know where he was going. It didn't really matter. It was all home, every curve and corner of Atlantis. Every little square inch that responded to his touch and felt that he was there. He could be anywhere in this city and he would belong there.

"I was looking for you." Rodney sounded a little annoyed as he walked into his lab.

"I was here." John said sitting in front of one of two laptops, ready to beat Rodney at virtual golf in spectacular fashion today.

"Well, I can see that now," Rodney said impatiently. Then his face suddenly looked regretful as if he remembered he was talking to a guy with a dead dad. "I mean, you know, you could have called me. So, um... hello."

John smiled. "Hi."

"So, how'd it go?” Rodney asked coming a little closer, arms straight be his sides, hands curled into fists. It was nice to know Rodney sucked at the whole empathy thing as much as John did.

John idly pressed some keys on the laptop in front of him. F. I. N. E. Space bar. Space bar. Space bar. God, he felt like a drink. "Well, weird. I guess."

Rodney nodded slowly and pulled up a seat next to John. "No kidding. You know, my father wanted to be buried in his worst suit. Out of pure spite," Rodney said, looking lost in thought. "He also wanted my mother to be buried in the same casket. She wasn't happy when she heard that, you know, still being very much alive. And vocal."

"That's a real touching story, Rodney.”

“I left out a lot of details,” Rodney said with a sigh.

John smiled, feeling tinged with too much sadness to bear for the moment, Rodney watching him closely. John shook his head and scratched the corner of his eyebrow so he didn't have to see Rodney looking like _his_ father had just died. Looking so loudly.

After a while Rodney turned to the other laptop on the table and quietly said, "I still miss him. Both of them. They weren't exactly poster parents, but... well. They weren't completely awful."

He booted up his laptop and reached over to do the same for John who was still watching Rodney. Rodney who was as crappy with feelings as the next guy and still managed to say everything that was important.

“I think maybe two games,” Rodney said absently. “Teyla wanted me to find you and drag you to dinner and I had to say yes because Ronon was looking menacing next to her. Mind you, that could just be Ronon looking like Ronon. Right, here we go. Okay, I'm thinking I might be able to take you. Not that I've been practising.”

John smiled, nodding though Rodney was too busy looking at the projection screen ahead, rubbing his hands together. John turned to his own keyboard, let himself drown in the constant flow of Rodney's chatter, thinking about his father who could talk, but never about anything that mattered. Or anything that mattered to John maybe. Still, John loved him and maybe his father loved him too. Maybe you could say a lot of stuff that meant nothing and never have to say the things that mattered.

“John?” Rodney's voice was quiet. “You okay?”

John stopped staring ahead, no idea how long he'd been sitting there like that, his body tired and finally uncoiling. He let out a breath and nodded, giving Rodney a look. “Yeah. I'm good.”

Rodney nodded back. “Want to go first?”

John smiled, shaking his head. “You go.”

They played three games. Rodney let John win the first. John let Rodney win the second. By the third game, the screen didn't look so blurry.

**\- the end -**


End file.
